


Just another LA devotee

by thenewbrokenscene



Series: It's a hell of a feeling though [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angry Luke, Angst, Bottom Luke, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Fame, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Luke is a brat, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partying, Top Michael Clifford, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenewbrokenscene/pseuds/thenewbrokenscene
Summary: [AU, actor/model Luke and musician Michael]The two faces on the coin of life: terrible, and not so terrible.(It's a hell of a feeling, though.)A collection of short stories.





	1. LA Devotee

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is where i'm posting the collection of other stories from my fic "it's a hell of a feeling though"!
> 
> reading that fic isnt entirely necessary to understanding this collection, but it will fill in gaps and give you a much better understanding. these are also short stories, so the timeline may skip around.  
> the tags reflect the themes in the original fic, i dont know if they will all be present here. but i will do chapter-by-chapter warnings as usual.
> 
> chapter warnings for #1:  
> referenced domestic abuse.

Luke's stomach turned in worry as he exited the shiny black SUV in the semicircle driveway in front of his school. 

His best friend had graduated last June.  His only friend, really.  People didn't tend to like Luke.

Not that he blamed them, he was a scrawny little seventeen year old with far too much money and a bratty personality to match.  His CEO father had elbowed his way into the acting industry for Luke early on, landing him a tween role on a popular kids' network that was famous for fucking up its child stars, but the teen had climbed his way up to a primetime drama on a national network where he enjoyed a successful career and fat pockets, but little popularity among his peers.

It didn't help that he suffered from more than a few _emotional issues_ that school counselors couldn't decipher because the boy was unwilling to admit to the abuse he suffered at the hands of his parents at home.  He was prone to violent temper tantrums and panic attacks when pushed too far by students or faculty, ostracizing him further.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something quickly approach him, but the blonde was unable to dart out of the way fast enough and subsequently, his Starbucks cup was smacked out of his hands.  It landed on the tiled floor, splashing Luke's black jeans with hot coffee.

Luke frowned at his fallen coffee and looked up, glaring at the perpetrator and his friends-- some other senior boys.  They stared him down, daring him to react.  He knew there was little he could do, considering Ashton and his friends (and by extension, _Luke's_ friends) weren't there to back him up.

So he settled for a " _fuck you, asshole,_ " under his breath and trudged forward.

The boy didn't seem to like that, grabbing Luke by the wrist and slamming him against the nearby wall of lockers.

"What did you just say?" the boy said, leering at Luke, whose face was smushed into the metal.

"Better let him go before he has a spazz attack," one of his companions said, laughing.

"I want him to _apologize_ ," the boy said, twisting Luke's arm up behind his back painfully.

Luke wanted _him_ to _die_.  But he wasn't feeling very fiery today.  He just wanted to go to _bed_ , and the day hadn't even started.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, knowing he had no other way out with the amount of adversaries and the way his bones felt like they were going to snap any second.

"What was that, Princess?" the boy asked, yanking Luke's arm until the blonde let out a gasp.

"I'm sorry," Luke said again, "Please don't break my arm."

He felt like he said that phrase far too often.  

The boys snickered.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

The seventeen year old stepped outside as the bell rang for lunch, walking until he reached the bleachers at the end of the soccer field.  A prime spot for smoking cigarettes undetected.  It was cooler when Ashton and his friends were around, but Luke needed the solitude anyway.

He didn't recieve solitude.  He recieved a blue-haired boy in a tacky leather jacket and a pair of black Converse sneakers.  In _his_ favorite smoking spot.  Already smoking.

"Uh, who are you?" Luke asked, sizing the boy up with his gaze.

"Michael," the boy said, "Michael Clifford.  I just moved here from New York."

 _Didn't ask your whole life story_ , Luke thought.

"Okay," Luke said, "Well, this is where _I_ smoke, so.."

"Fine by me," Michael said, "Need a lighter?"

"No," Luke snapped.  

Couldn't he see he wanted to be _alone_?

The blonde reached into the front pocket of his backpack, pulling out his cigarettes.  He shoved one between his lips, patting around his jacket for his lighter.  It wasn't in there.  He dug through his backpack, putting it on the ground and pulling all of his shit out of it before concluding that he did _not_ have a fucking lighter.  He looked up at Michael, who was smiling at him, smug.  He wondered what he was going to have to _do_ to get that lighter.

Luke took the cigarette out of his mouth, standing up straight, sheepishly.  He bit his lip, waiting for Michael to offer the lighter at the cost of begging or licking the bleachers or some equally humiliating task.  And, when Luke said _nevermind the lighter_ , being forced to do one of those things anyway.

He kicked the dirt beneath his feet, glancing at the other boy.  Michael fished around in his pocket, pulling out the lighter and handing it to the blonde.

"Here, you can borrow it," he offered, his kind smile reaching his green eyes.

Luke looked at him suspiciously before taking what was offered to him and using it, then shoving it back at the blue haired boy.

He took a long, much needed drag from his cigarette.

"You're from that TV show," Michael said, ashing his own cigarette, "Luke, right?"

"Yeah," Luke said snottily, "And _who_ are you, again?"

"Didn't think _you'd_ be alone for lunch," Michael observed.

"I don't want to hang out with any of those people anyway," Luke replied, "I value myself too much.  If I had a choice, I wouldn't be talking to _you_ , either."

"So... you have no friends, and you're depressed about it?"

"I _have_ friends!  I just don't have time to piss around with the idiots that go here!" the blonde said indignantly.

"You don't have to pretend you're important," Michael scoffed.

Luke reeled back.  That stung.  He _knew_ he wasn't important, he knew it every fucking _day_.

"You can just say you're sad, or whatever," Michael continued, "Just be yourself, I mean.  I'm sure you're much nicer that way.  I can tell there's an actual personality under all this shit you're trying to give me."

Luke considered it, carefully.  He took another drag, watching the smoke curl through the air in front of him.

"My dad says that's not good enough," he said finally, a lump forming in his throat, "He says I have to pretend I'm smart, like I'm worth something."

Michael's smile faded, and he looked at Luke like he was watching one of those fucking depressing humane society commercials.  

"I'm sorry," Michael said quietly.


	2. Static palms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You got two black eyes from loving too hard  
> and a black car that matches your blackest soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: referenced child abuse, very red flags for emotional abuse (and not from who you might think)

"You have a really nice smile," Michael said, his feet dangling from the cinderblock plateau where they perched drinking smoothies behind a café, facing the adjoining Walmart parking lot, "I don't think I've seen it before."

"Huh?" Luke asked, "I'm sure you've seen photos where I'm smiling."

"Your _genuine_ smile, I mean," Michael said, "It's really pretty."

Luke blushed, butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"Nah," he said shyly, looking down at the pink smoothie in his hands, "I have an ugly smile, makes my eyes all squinty and shows too many teeth."

Michael was looking at him like that again, gripping his drink tightly, jaw clenched.

"Your dad tell you that?" he asked, behind thinly veiled anger.

"No, my mom did.  Says it's not a models' smile," Luke shrugged obliviously, sipping his smoothie. 

Michael was quiet a moment, staring down at the asphalt below his feet.

"My mom doesn't like it when I smile, either," he said slowly, "She said it reminds her of my dad."

"What happened to your dad?" Luke asked, pushing a stray blonde strand of hair away from his face.

"He walked out on us a few years ago.  My mom lost all ability to be a human, much less a parent, so I've kinda been taking care of myself since, while she rotates between staying in bed for weeks on end and going out to party with random men for weeks on end.  Some of them, not so nice."

Luke swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.  He settled for a comforting hand on the knee, tapping his fingers against the older boy's leg.

"I'm sorry, I can't imagine what that's like," he said quietly.  Then, nervous, "I-- love it when you smile."

Michael smiled softly, taking Luke's hand in his own to play with the younger boy's fingers.  It made the blonde's chest feel funny.  It made him feel warm.

 

* * *

 

The pair sat side-by-side on the sofa in Michael's living room, watching the credits roll after the movie they'd chosen.  Michael's mother had been missing for the past two days, which was concerning to Luke, but Michael assured him it was a common occurrence, making the apartment the more peaceful hangout spot out of each of their houses.  Neither of them acknowledged the fact that they'd started holding hands halfway through the film until Michael muted the TV and turned towards Luke, taking a deep breath.

"Luke, I--" he started, taking Luke's hand in both of his, "I really like you.  I feel like we bring out the best in each other, and I just feel so comfortable around you, and-- I think you're really cute."

Luke's heart skipped a beat, and he stared at Michael with wide eyes.  His bewildered expression quickly broke into a grin and he added his free hand to the tangle between them.

"I like you too," he said, almost giddy, "I've never really felt like I was _enough_ until I met you.  I love being around you."

They smiled at each other in the dark room, illuminated by the red of the Netflix screen.  Luke's heart was beating fast, and he leaned forward before he could lose his nerve and cupped Michael's face in both hands and kissed him.

* * *

 

Their first time was nice, until it wasn't so nice.

It was nice when it started, it was nice when they finished and Michael thought it would be hilarious to smoke a cigarette in bed afterwards like they did in the movies, and Luke laughed when he was offered a few puffs.

It was nice until the room went quiet aside from the tapping of the cigarette against the edge of the ashtray on the nightstand, and Luke had time to remember that his existence extended past the walls of the dark bedroom.  His dad would fucking kill him, he thought, his stomach twisting.

"Michael," he whispered.

"Luke," Michael cooed back, tossing the burnt out butt of his cigarette into the ashtray.

"Michael, I don't think I can do this," Luke said, a lump in his throat.  

Michael turned towards him, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

"Sure you can, we just did."

"I mean it," Luke snapped, "I can't just-- I can't be this." His voice shook, "I don't think we can be a thing."

The older boy fiddled with the plastic lighter, waving around the flame with his fingertips.  He put it down on the wooden side table with a quiet clack, turning towards Luke and lacing their fingers together.

"So we won't," Michael said softly, "We'll just be us."

 

* * *

 

"Jeez, you look like hell," Michael joked upon seeing Luke's disheveled appearance at his front door.  The actor had pounded on it until being let in, and while Michael was happy to see his Luke, he was also confused by the lack of prior announcement, "What's up?"

Luke said nothing, staring down at his trembling hands clasped in front of him.  He took his lipring between his teeth, one foot tapping nervously.

Michael eyed him suspiciously.  He reached over to ruffle the other boy's honey-colored hair, hoping to draw some reaction from him.

His fingers barely brushed the top of Luke's head before the blonde jerked out of the way, a loud sob escaping his lips as his fingernails clawed into his black denim-covered thighs.  Michael gaped at him, his hand hovering in mid-air. 

"I'm sorry, don't, just-- just, _please_ don't," Luke stammered, blue eyes darting between Michael and his raised hand.

"Okay," Michael said, bewildered, taking his hand back slowly, "What the fuck is going on?"

"Please, can I please stay here tonight," Luke begged, squeezing his eyes shut, "I'm sorry I bothered you, I didn't know where else to go-- We can do whatever you want, anything, I just can't go home."

"Yeah, of course," the blue haired boy said, eyebrows raised in surprise as he stepped aside to let Luke into the apartment.  

As the younger boy crossed through the dim hallway into the brightness of the living room, Michael realized the purpley shadow over his eye wasn't a shadow at all, that the split in his swollen lower lip wasn't an odd trick of the light.

 

* * *

 

In the school parking lot one afternoon, Luke leaned against the back bumper of Michael's van as the older boy sat tuning his guitar.

"Do you, uh," Luke started shyly, using his phone as a mirror to ensure his quiffed hair was in order, "Do you maybe, want to, um, come over and have dinner with my family tonight?  As friends."

Michael stopped mid-strum, looking up at the blonde.  His blue eyes shifted away embarrassedly, like a twelve year old caught passing notes in class.  

"I'd love to," he replied, grinning broadly.

 

* * *

 

"I can't believe you actually brought a friend over and it's not Ashton or Calum!  What a nice surprise," Luke's mother said, pointing her fork at the blue haired boy between bites of dinner.

"I _have_ other friends, Mom, they just can't stand your home decor," Luke replied with an embarrassed smile. 

"What do your parents do, Michael?" Luke's father asked, addressing the other boy.

"My mom and I have been on our own for a while now, actually," Michael said hesitantly, swirling the soda around in his glass.  Luke's father nodded in understanding, so Michael continued, "She's a fashion designer.  We're originally from New York, and her stuff has been on runways during fashion week there and a couple other places, but she wanted to see what the business was like here in LA for a while."

Luke's mother was nearly drooling at the idea of her son becoming close with the son of a famous designer.

"And what are you going to do?" his father asked.

"Music, hopefully," Michael said, cheerful, "I've only released a few EPs so far, and they've been pretty successful, I mean, in my opinion, but I'm not rushing it.  I'm gonna go to college for guitar next year if I don't break right into the industry with like, a radio hit or something."

"I have a few friends who own record labels near the city," Luke's father offered, sipping from a glass of wine on the table, "I can help you get set up with a recording studio, maybe some writers if you're interested.  Luke's been interested in getting into music, but it's not his biggest talent, so I'd hate for those connections to go to waste."

Luke inwardly cringed at the jab.

"That would be awesome," Michael said enthusiastically, nearly choking on his food out of excitement.  

 

* * *

 

"Your dad actually seemed...really nice," Michael said as the pair sat side-by-side in the home theater, playing video games on a massive screen in cushy red leather chairs.

Luke's focused expression turned instantly to a frown, watching his character fall off the side of the screen and die.

The older boy glanced at him, noticing his sour expression.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I just thought, you said--"

Luke slammed his controller down on the armrest, gritting his teeth.

"You really think I'm _lying_ about the shit he does to me," he hissed, trying to control the volume of his voice so his words would remain unintelligible under the music from the video game in case the older man was nearby, "I shouldn't have fucking told you at all."

Michael's eyebrows shot towards the ceiling as he realized his mistake and he rushed to make amends, grabbing Luke's hand where it clutched the armrest in a white-knuckled grip.

"I didn't mean it like that, of course I believe you," Michael assured him, "I guess I was just imagining something more...stereotypical.  I shouldn't have said it like that, I promise I believe you."

Luke eyed the older boy, hesitant and angry, before relaxing back into his seat with a deep sigh.

"It's okay if you don't believe me, most people don't," he muttered passive aggressively.

"I'm sorry, I really do believe you," the blue haired boy apologized again gently, stroking Luke's hand lightly with both of his own.

"Yeah, whatever," Luke said nastily, ripping his hand out of Michael's grip to pick up his controller.  He glared at the enormous screen, signaling that the subject was to be immediately dropped.

 

* * *

"What are you doing tonight?" Luke asked cheerfully, cuddling a pillow on his bed while talking to Michael via Facetime on his phone, "I wanna see you."

"I'm actually getting ready to hang out with my friend from New York that's visiting LA this weekend at my mom's work party, so I can't tonight, babe.  But I miss you," Michael said, the phone propped up on his nightstand as he threw a jacket over his shoulders. 

Luke's smile fell.

" _Oh_ ," he said coldly.

"I told you he was visiting this weekend," the older boy said hesitantly, "I told you on Wednesday, remember?"

"No, I think you're thinking of someone else," Luke said, "But it's whatever, it's not like I needed you or anything.  Have fun."

"I haven't seen this guy in months, and I'm pretty sure I definitely told you about it anyway.  I'm not gonna cancel on him."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time."

"Okay, so what the fuck?" Michael asked, getting frustrated by Luke's tone.

"It's just that you're never around when I actually really need your support," Luke replied bitterly, "You always have convenient plans when I really want to see you.  Are you fucking him?"

"Fuck, Luke!  I'm not gonna have this argument every fucking time I can't come over at your every whim!  You're being ridiculous and your passive aggressiveness really makes me feel guilty when I shouldn't have to!" Michael said, apparently a bit too loudly because Luke's eyes widened and he shrunk back behind the shelter of his pillow.

"You hate me," he mumbled, eyes filling with tears.

Michael sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Of course not, Luke, I'm just saying--"

"You yelled at me.  I fucking hate myself."

"I did not!" Michael shouted then, indignant, "You're not even--"

_Beep, beep._

Luke had hung up abruptly, staring at his phone with angry tears streaming down his cheeks.  He couldn't believe Michael was going to abandon him for some other boy when _he'd_ had a really hard day.

His phone started to buzz as Michael attempted to Facetime him back, but he let it ring.  He let Michael call him five times with no answer.  Luke received a text a few minutes later.

 **mikey** : look im really sorry for yelling, i'll take you out for dinner tomorrow night to make up for this!!

 **lukey** : its fine im just being stupid

 **mikey** : you're not stupid

 **lukey** : k well have fun

 **mikey** : that feels sarcastic

 **lukey** : forgot the kissy face emoji , really its fine.

 **mikey** : alright, i'll try not to bang too many supermodels tonight *kissy emoji*

 **lukey** : like that could ever happen

 **mikey** : did you forget an emoji that time lol

 **lukey** : no. goodnight.  sorry i'm not him.

 **mikey** : oh my god

luke

luke

luke

you're not sleeping

answer your phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for my absence. 
> 
> also, as this segment takes place before the full length fic, luke doesnt have any of his character development yet. so in the full fic when michael referenced their past emotionally abusive relationship.....yeah. you can see luke is already being manipulative here.   
> there will be happy segments though lol


	3. Always blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm the first kid to write of hearts, lies, and friends,  
> and I am sorry my conscience called in sick again  
> I've got arrogance down to a science

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings:  
> drug use, emotional abuse/unhealthy relationship

Stumbling through the entrance of Ashton's mansion with the rest of their group, Luke rushed ahead to claim the sofa in the living room, flopping face-down onto it. The long night of drinking, dancing, and socializing was weighing down on the sandy-haired boy, and he was damn tired. He kicked off his boots, hearing them tumble onto the tiled floor.

"Hey, Luke, don't go to sleep," Ashton chuckled, ruffling the younger boy's hair.

"'M tired," Luke grumbled, smacking Ashton's hand away, "This is my bed."

"Too bad," he said, "This is where I wanna hang out. In here, guys!"

Sighing, Luke pulled himself back up to a seated position while Ashton's friends piled into the room.  Bryana, Ashton's on-off girlfriend and arguably the most decent person in their crew, sat next to Luke on the sofa, so the blonde propped himself up by resting his cheek on her shoulder.  His eyes drifted closed again, not really listening to the conversation around him until Ashton's finger poked him in the face.

"Huh, what?"

"I _said_ , have you ever been high before?" Ashton asked, a small plastic bag full of white powder sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

"Uh, you've seen me smoke plenty of times," Luke yawned, sitting up straighter, "And that video of me after I got my wisdom teeth removed."

"I mean for _real_.  Not just pot."

"No, I guess not," Luke replied, shifting uncomfortably under the room's gaze.

"Wanna try it?"

"Isn't that... like... _bad_ for you?" the younger boy asked.  Ashton's friends giggled at how ignorant he sounded.  Luke's face felt hot.

"Luke, it's fucking coke, what do _you_ think?" Ashton laughed.  He grabbed the plastic bag off the table and threw it at Luke, who nearly missed catching it. "One time won't kill you.  Besides, it'll be funny."

"Oh, Ashton, don't give him _that_ , he's a kid," Bryana scolded, snatching the bag out of Luke's hands.  Then, turning to the younger boy, "Don't listen to him."

"Let him make his own decision!  It's not like he's dumb enough to get addicted after just one hit," Ashton rolled his eyes, taking the bag back from Bryana and plopping it in Luke's lap. "He's falling asleep and this'll wake him up." He patted Luke's knee, "First time's free."

Luke glanced around the room, realizing everyone was looking at him expectantly.  Ashton smacked his arm, impatient for his compliance.

"How... how do I... _do_ it?" Luke asked hesitantly. 

* * *

 

"I can't stay long; I'm going out with Ashton tonight," Luke said, kissing Michael on the temple as he set the pizza and chicken wing boxes down on the coffee table in the older boy's living room.  

He plopped down on the sofa next to Michael and watched his green eyes bulge excitedly at the surprise dinner, smiling.  Michael looked at Luke, then back down at the food, then back at Luke, lunging forward to smooch the blonde on his pretty pink lips before digging into the pizza. 

Mid-bite, he stopped, looking at Luke.

"Wait, sorry-- didn't you go out with Ashton _last_ night?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow and lowering the slice of pizza.

"Yeah, we had a work event that we couldn't miss," Luke huffed, suddenly defensive, "What, are you the _fun police_ or something?"

The blue haired boy rolled his eyes, knowing this would be an entirely different conversation if _he_ said _he_ was going out two nights in a row, but choosing not to bring that up.

"No," he scoffed, "It's just-- the constant drunk texts and calls are a little... concerning."

"Fine, I won't call you then," Luke snapped, crossing his arms.

"Well, if you need me, of course I want you to call me," Michael argued, "I dunno, if I drank as often as you do, I'd feel like shit, so I'm just worried about your health."

"Don't act like you care, it's not like you're ever around to actually _see_ me drink."

"You never ask me to come!" Michael countered.

"My friends wouldn't like you," Luke said nastily.

Michael stared at him in disbelief, dropping his pizza back onto the cardboard.  Luke was annoyed.

"It's just the truth!  They'd think you're loud and obnoxious!" 

"That's so mean!" Michael said, hurt.

"It's not like _I_ think that," Luke said, a little more gently.  He looked down, tracing an obscure shape on the top of Michael's thigh with his fingertip, "I just don't know if you'd fit in."

Michael said nothing, just stared at the other boy, distressed.  At the lack of response, Luke leaned towards him, wrapping his arms around the older boy's neck and pulling him in so he could kiss his cheek.

"Hey," Luke said, and then, for the first time, "I love you."

Michael stiffened, sniffling.

"You mean it?" he asked hopefully.

"I wouldn't lie," Luke said.  

Michael smiled, turning his head so he could kiss the other boy on the lips.

"I love you, too."

 

* * *

 

Luke knocked lightly on the Cliffords' apartment door, tupperware container of chicken noodle soup in hand.  The older boy had stayed home sick from school, so Luke thought it appropriate to come over and coddle him, knowing his mother wasn't going to provide in that aspect.

Michael answered the door, rosy-cheeked and wrapped in a blanket.

"You shouldn't have come," he said through a stuffy nose, stepping aside to let the younger boy in, "You're gonna get sick."

"Then _you_ can take care of _me_ ," Luke smiled at him over his shoulder, making his way towards Michael's room, where the blue haired boy had been playing video games in bed all day, "But for now, I'm gonna feed you this soup, and then I'm gonna cuddle you until you feel better."

* * *

 

"You said you liked coke, right?  So I'm not, like, giving you shit you don't even _like_.  I'm introducing you to things I _know_ you'll enjoy," Ashton said, taking a puff of his cigarette as the two boys sat on the back patio of his mansion, overlooking the pool.

"Yeah, but..." Luke trailed off, turning the pill bottle over in his hands.  He thought about how he'd done coke probably a few too many times over the past couple of weeks, and how the comedown was fucking awful but he just kept fucking _doing_ it.  He didn't know if he wanted to add on more shit to the comedowns and hangovers.  Plus, his bad moods were pissing Michael off and the older boy _knew_ something was up. "Am I gonna feel like shit afterwards...?"

Ashton scoffed.

"Doctors prescribe this shit, they're just pain meds.  And you're not even in pain, so it just feels awesome."

Luke swallowed, reading and re-reading the label.  Oxycodone.  He looked up, seeing Ashton staring at him.

"Look, if you don't want it, just give it back so I can actually _sell_ it," he said, irritated.  He reached out his hand, as if to take the bottle back.

Luke gave Ashton one last glance before unscrewing the safety cap.

* * *

 

"Ugh, Michael, fuck," Luke panted, clawing at the older boy's blue hair, "Fuck!"

Michael sat up, to Luke's dismay, kneeling on the mattress and wiping his mouth.  

"Pull my hair again and I'll just fucking tie your hands to the headboard," Michael growled, running a hand through his hair to make sure it was all still intact. 

Luke's eyes were wide as he stared at Michael, his lips parted slightly at the threat.  Michael stared back at him.

"...Y-yeah..?  Will you?" Luke asked, heart beating faster.

"Did I just say something really good?" Michael asked, an excited smile creeping across his features.

"Yeah, I think so," the blonde agreed, nodding slowly.

Michael scrambled off the bed and went for his closet, not bothering to pull his boxers up from around his thighs.  He threw a few shirts and socks across the room.

"Okay, wait, _fuck_ , I know I have a tie in here somewhere from last year's homecoming dance--"

* * *

 

"Jesus Christ, Luke!  What the fuck is wrong with you?" Michael hissed, putting physical distance between himself and the younger boy.

Luke stared at the shattered glass scattered across the floor where the argument between the two boys had gotten out of hand, chest heaving.  Something Michael said had made Luke's vision go red and he unthinkingly chucked the glass of water the other boy had gotten for him across the room, breaking it against the wall.  He didn't move, imagining the moment when Michael would inevitably rush forward to hit him for his outburst.

"I don't know," he whispered, mouth dry.  He wiped the sweat from his forehead, "I'll help clean it up."

"Are you _on_ something?" Michael accused.

Luke made the mistake of sending a guilty glance in Michael's direction, and Michael _knew_.

"What did you take?" Michael asked, crossing his arms.

Luke swallowed, looking away pointedly.  He was shaking.  He felt like a herd of wild animals was stampeding through his chest.

"Nothing," he _lied_ , hands clenched into fists. 

It was a cycle.

* * *

 

"I'm so sorry, Michael," Luke sobbed, as quietly as sobbing could possibly be, into his phone.  He sat, knees curled into his chest, against his locked bathroom door. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  God, you fucking _hate_ me."

"I don't hate you," Michael reassured him, "I just don't know if we can keep doing this."

Luke sniffled up the snot threatening to run out of his nose, wiping his face off on the fabric of his joggers.

"I know I keep fucking up, I just-- I'm really _trying_ , and I just can't fucking-- I just, fuck, I'm so fucking _stupid_ ," he whispered, "I love you, I can't lose you."

"I love you too.  But you don't _respect_ me.  I never know if you're lying, I never know when you're being sincere, I never even know what you _want_ from me!"

"I just want to be with you," Luke said, voice shaky, "Please don't leave me.  I'm such a piece of shit, I know.  Please, just give me one more chance, I won't let you down again, I _promise_."

Michael was silent.  Then, "No more drugs.  You're not a piece of shit.  Mistakes happen.  But... you have to stop."

Luke nodded vigorously, feeling stupid when he realized the other boy couldn't actually see the bobbing up and down of his sandy blonde hair.

"I'll do anything," he vowed.

It was a cycle.

* * *

 

The two boys sat together in the Hemmings family's hottub, gazing up at the starry sky above them.  Luke's parents had gone on some trip out of state for his father's company, leaving the seventeen-year-old in charge of the house.  They were somehow confident that no harm would come to their property, which was naive on their part, as the blonde had a party planned for the following night that would no doubt end with some type of emergency vehicle parked in their circle drive.

They held hands under the water, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, as close as they could physically be to one another without giving in to the dumb teenage desire to fool around in the hottub-- that would be just slightly too risky.

Michael shifted, snaking his arm around Luke's waist and resting his head on the taller boy's bare shoulder.  Luke played idly with the older boy's blue hair.

"I'm really glad you're doing better," Michael sighed, content, "You have, like, color in your cheeks, lately.  And you have more energy to do... _stuff_."

Luke giggled as Michael waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

To be honest, he hadn't been doing _better_ , per se-- it was just that he had mostly nixed the cocaine in favor of those wonderful pills.  Unlike coke and liquor, the pain medication helped mellow Luke out, which was a high that was decidedly easier to manage ( _and hide_ ) as needed.

"I'm glad _we're_ doing better," Luke agreed anyway, "I hate when we fight."

"Mm, yeah, that's good too.  Glad we've gotten back to how things were at the beginning," Michael said, "I love you."

"I love you more," Luke replied, kissing the older boy on the top of the head.

It was a _cycle_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as i was writing this i realized that i dont know who/how old my readers are or where they come from so i feel partially responsible to at least say this:   
> 99.99% of the time, someone who is emotionally abusive/manipulative in a relationship will not change so please don't take this work of fiction with luke's fictional character development as a sign that you should stay with someone who is treating you badly. he is meant to be seen here as Making Terrible Choices. he's the main character, but in this segment he's not The Good Guy.  
> there are "good times" in the relationship because...sometimes there are. its what can make it hardest to leave.  
> i dont want to seem like i'm romanticizing any of this, my writing is personal to me and my experiences but i know that by sharing it i have to take some responsibility for how others will interpret it.
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading/commenting/giving kudos/etc!


	4. Kerosene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His little whispers,  
> "Love me, love me,  
> that's all I ask for,  
> love me, love me."
> 
> Monster,   
> how should I feel?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: emotional abuse, suicide mention (no past, present, or future action or self-harm, just a mention), threats, drug use, underage drinking
> 
> boy that sounds terrible, have fun.

It happened so _often_ now.

Luke was being eaten alive by guilt yet couldn't stop vomiting those horrible words and unforgivable actions towards Michael, the only person in his life who truly gave a fuck about him.  It wasn't like he _meant_ to cheat, or lie, or hurt Michael, it just... bubbled out of him naturally, and once he realized what he'd done it was too late to take it back and he had to protect himself.

Michael was bawling on the couch, a shredded magazine in his hands, and Luke was on his knees on the carpet, watching him.  He felt very cold despite the hot tears running down his own cheeks.  He knew this was it. 

_"Who is that?" Michael had said, shoving the magazine cover in Luke's face as soon as the younger boy had come in and dropped his backpack onto Michael's living room floor.  The cover showed Luke hand-in-hand with what the tabloid called a 'mystery girl'.  Michael's voice wobbled, "And why am I seeing her everywhere?"_

_"She's one of Ashton's friends," Luke said carefully, pushing the magazine away, "She just got hired onto our cast."_

_"So tell me this is just PR then," Michael said, more desperately, flipping through the pages until he landed on a more incriminating photo of the pair, "And--and, it says here, April 24th-- you said you were having dinner with your parents that night, right?  So-- so--"_

_"Michael," Luke said, a tight-lipped smile across his features, "I love you."_

_He gently placed his hand over the older boy's shaking one, and leaned over to kiss the top of his blue hair._

_"She doesn't mean anything to me," he said._

_Michael recoiled, ripping himself away from the actor.  His eyes immediately welled with tears._

_"Again?" he whispered angrily, "You're doing this again?"_

_"Michael," Luke groaned, stomach twisting when Michael jerked away from his outstretched hand.  He sank to his knees on the white carpet, "Please, I've never even been_ sober _around her, I barely knew what I was doing."_

_The older boy barked out a humorless laugh, wiping his nose on his sleeve._

_"That makes me feel_ much _better," he spat.  Then, eyes widening, "Wait-- the other night, when I called you and you were fucking sobbing because you were_ sorry _but you got high and you couldn't help lying to me about having to work and you_ needed _me-- were you...were you with her?"_

_Luke didn't say anything, which was answer enough.  Michael tore at the magazine, sinking down onto the sofa as his feigned laughter turned to sobs._

Luke felt the poison in his veins bubble up and propel the words out of his mouth.  He was like a bee, about to self-destruct because he couldn't resist stinging someone.

"You can't even be mad about this," he said in a strangled voice, " _You_ agreed that _we_ aren't in a relationship, _you_ said you understood that I have an image to maintain.   _We_ aren't even _together_."

"Like fuck we're not!" Michael shouted, making Luke jump, "You say that like _you're_ not the one depending on me for everything!  Do you even care about me at all, or do you just like having a place to stay when you piss off your parents?"

"Of course I care about you," Luke said, voice cracking as the tears flowed more freely, "I love you more than anything."

Michael scoffed, throwing the magazine to the floor and burying his hands in his dyed hair.  He sniffled a few more times, collecting himself.

"I can't do this anymore, Luke, I mean it," he said as calmly as possible, though his voice shook, "This is-- this is ridiculous, that we keep doing this."

Luke tried to swallow past the lump in his throat.  He couldn't.

"You can't, you--" Luke started, eyes wide, "Don't you love me?"

"I can't.  I can't be with you anymore, Luke.  You're ruining my mental stability."

 _You're losing everything_ , the toxic sludge inside Luke's soul said.  He let it take over.  He had nothing else to lose.

"I--" he said, licking his lips.  He was eerily calm. "I'm just going to kill myself, then."

Michael's head whipped up to glare at the younger boy.  He stood, stalking over to Luke and grabbing his wrist, yanking the blonde to his feet.  Luke flinched violently, whimpering as he expected to be struck.

"Don't ever fucking say that," Michael hissed instead, inches away from the other boy's face, staring him directly in his bloodshot blue eyes, "That's the most horrible fucking thing you've ever said to me, and I want you out of my house.  You will _not_ manipulate me like that.  We're through."

Luke started sobbing in earnest, stumbling away from the older boy when his arm was released.  He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop shaking.

"No, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I take it back, I'm sorry, please let me take it back," he cried, digging his fingernails into his arms, "I didn't mean to say that, I'm a stupid little bitch, I'm sorry--"

"You need to go," Michael said firmly, laying a hand across Luke's shoulders to guide him towards the door.  Luke jerked away as he crossed the threshold, shoving Michael back forcefully.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he shrieked.  His entire being felt red hot, like his tears were going to evaporate any second.  His hands were clenched into fists, "I fucking hate you!  I _hate_ you!  I'm going to fucking _kill_ myself!" 

"That's not my responsibility.  Threatening me won't change anything," Michael said coldly, dumping Luke's backpack into the hallway before quickly shutting the door in the younger boy's face and locking it.

Luke grit his teeth and screamed, pounding on the door.  He knew that Michael wasn't going to let him back in, and especially not like this, but he couldn't just fucking leave Luke _alone_ after all of that.  He almost felt bad for the neighbors -- but that was Michael's problem.

"Luke!" Michael said through the wood, catching Luke's attention.  Luke didn't know how long Michael had been barking his name. "If you punch my door one more time, I'm going to call the police.  Go home.  It's over."

Luke panted, catching his breath.  He didn't know if Michael was bluffing, but he knew he couldn't deal with the police right then.  He would absolutely cause a scene and end up in a metric fuckton of trouble.

He went home.

* * *

 

His mother met him at the door, telling him she'd received a phone call from Michael, who had apparently been _concerned_ that her son was going to hurt himself.  Yeah fucking right.  This prompted her to get her husband involved so the two of them could give Luke a _talking to_ about attention seeking.  

He ended up in a metric fuckton of trouble anyway.

* * *

 

"Can I have my shoes, please?" Luke asked, sullen, as he knocked on the dining room doorway to capture his parents' attention.  He was going to be late for his miserable fucking day at school.

He'd come home from a horrible fucking workday the day after his breakup with Michael to find his bedroom stripped of all his belongings.  It was a somewhat common punishment, an extreme version of being grounded.  He could consider himself on house arrest until further notice.  This time, the motive behind it was that his parents wanted to give him a taste of what it would be like if they were to ship him off to the hospital as a suicide risk.  He was meant to be _grateful_ to them that they allowed him to sleep in his own bed.   _That_ would teach him not to say stupid shit.  It would've been a media shitshow if Michael had decided to notify anyone besides Luke's parents, and Luke needed to learn his lesson.

The shoes were removed from his closet to ensure he wouldn't be leaving the house without permission.  Along with an opportunity for some good old-fashioned humiliation.

His mother looked up from her cup of tea.

"I'll get them after I finish my tea, baby," his mother said dismissively.

" _When_?" Luke snapped.

Luke's father glanced up from his mug of coffee.

"When she's _finished_ ," the older man said sharply.

"I need to _go_!" Luke groaned.  Then, turning around to leave, he said under his breath, "This is so fucking _stupid_!"

"Watch your mouth, or you're grounded for another week," his father said.  

Luke whirled around, eyes wide in anger.

"That's not fair!  I _need_ to go to school, I'm already behind on my homework because the hour of supervised laptop time every other day isn't _nearly_ enough to finish anything, my work schedule's getting all messed up because you won't let me have my stupid goddamn phone, I can't even put my shoes on without permission, and--"

"Luke," his father interrupted.  His voice was quiet, but Luke was trained to abort mission at the drop of a hat.  He could probably hear and obey his father's command if he'd whispered from across the damn house, just from the sheer necessity and fear of punishment. "Do you want to go talk about this in the other room?"

Luke shivered.  That was simply a more polite way of saying, _'Your mother doesn't want to hear me talking about beating your ass, nor does she want to see me beating your ass, but rest assured I will still drag you into the living room by your hair and beat your fucking ass if you don't shut the hell up right this second.'_

"No, sir," he grumbled, breaking eye contact in favor of staring at his own socks.

"It'll only be a few minutes, relax," his mother sighed, stirring a sugar cube into her cup.  She waved him over to the dining table. "Come, stop being so dramatic and sit with us, like a normal family."

His father gestured to the chair next to himself and Luke marched forward, smiling thinly and trying to hold back his nausea.  

* * *

 

He didn't see Michael at school.  He hadn't seen Michael at school for over a week.  He sat under the bleachers at lunch, smoking a cigarette in the warm spring weather.  Michael didn't show up there, either.

* * *

Luke nearly cried tears of joy when he walked into his bedroom at the end of the following week and saw his possessions were put back in their rightful places-- namely, his phone, wrapped up in his charger and placed on his nightstand.  He turned it on, ignoring his ( _literally_ ) thousands of notifications, immediately going for his iMessage with Michael.  Michael hadn't said anything, except once almost three weeks ago:

 **mikey** : i have some of your clothes.  let me know where i should drop them off.

Luke ignored that.

 **luke hemmings** : where have you been ?? i need to talk to you, why havent you been at school ??

Michael didn't answer for a few hours, leaving Luke anxiously laying in bed, trying to check his other notifications but finding it impossible to focus and absorb the information.

_7:47 PM_

**mikey** : i've been at school.

 **luke hemmings** : i havent seen you, why havent you come to talk to me then ? i havent had my phone since you told my parents i was going to off myself.......

 **mikey** : i don't want to talk.

Luke swallowed hard, fingers shaking as he typed.

 **luke hemmings** : okay , but i just wanted you to know im really sorry and i love you

 **mikey** : that doesn't change anything. i don't want to be with someone who's been emotionally abusing me for the past 8 months.

Luke reeled back at that.  Who the fuck put _that_ kind of idea in Michael's head?  Sure, they had their arguments, but it was never-- like _that_.  He was seething at the implication that he was anything like his father.

 **luke hemmings:** how the fuck can you think i would do something like that ,

i never hit you or forced you into anything

if you hated me so much you could have left , relationships are two sided and you cant blame our problems just on me

 **mikey** : i can and i do.

i'll come by later and hand your shit over to the security guy at the front gate. 

don't text me again. 

Luke screamed through his clenched teeth, squeezing his phone dangerously in his tense fists.  He jumped out of bed, pacing around his room, not knowing what to do with himself and his wild emotions until he settled on chucking an expensive lamp to the floor, hearing it shatter was like music to his ears, and rummaging desperately through his backpack until he found a near-empty bottle of pills.

* * *

 

"You good, Luke?" Ashton chuckled, his girlfriend draped across his chest as they lounged in the older boy's living room while waiting for their friends to arrive for a visit to the club.

Luke was laying on his designated spot on the sofa -- or, he _had_ been.  Sometime after the pre-drinks and pills, he'd slipped halfway off the furniture, leaving his head on the cushions and most of his body on the floor.  He paid the odd position no mind, he was nothing less than perfectly comfortable.  

He lazily rolled his eyes towards Ashton, glancing at him before his empty gaze drifted back to the patterned rug underneath the couch.

"I feel like a dragon," he murmured slowly, his head filled with nice, soft cotton where his annoying fucking buzzing anxious brain normally was.

Ashton laughed out loud, leaning forward to pat Luke on the arm good-naturedly.

The blonde hummed, groping around the coffee table for his unfinished drink.

"Don't let him have anything else, he barely knows where he is," Bryana whispered harshly, sitting up to scold Ashton.  

The older boy frowned at her.

"Why?  He's fine, it's _funny_ ," he argued.

"He is _not_ fine, he--"

"I'm at Ashton's house," Luke spoke up, "I'm half-laying on the floor because I'm lazy and comfortable."

"Huh?" she asked.

"I know where I am and I'm perfectly coherent and I feel _good_ ," Luke explained further, a little annoyed that Bryana seemed to think she knew what was best for him, "I know when to stop.  I'm _fine_."

"See?  He knows what he's doing, don't baby him," Ashton said, rolling his eyes before sipping from the beer bottle held between his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading/giving kudos/commenting/bookmarking/interacting with my fic in any way.
> 
> i'll get working on my other fic soon, its just that postcards is easier to write when im.....happier lol


	5. Came Out Swinging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm running on empty,  
> The late nights and the long drives start to get to me.  
> I'm just so tired.  
> I spent this year as a ghost and I'm not sure what I'm looking for,  
> I'm a voice on a phone that you rarely answer anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: physical/emotional abuse, drug/alcohol abuse, drug overdose, lack of michael

Luke slumped against the wall in the second-floor hallway near his bedroom door.  He drooled bloody saliva onto his t-shirt and wondered if the screaming pain in his shoulder meant it was broken.

_As usual, he'd come home at an unreasonable hour of the night (morning?), buzzing from the slowly diminishing effects of the drugs and liquor.  Stumbling as quietly as possible towards his room, Luke had tripped over the leg of a decorative table in the dark hallway, sending one of his mother's fucking stupid expensive blown-glass sculptures crashing to the floor, shattering loudly as Luke cried out about his fucking stubbed toes._

_His knees hit the polished wood floor, and his heart leapt to his throat as he stared helplessly at the broken sculpture.  The world stopped turning for a moment, until the light in Luke's parents' bedroom flicked on further down the hallway.  Luke felt like he was choking, scrambling towards the glass to clean it up and praying his mother would appear through that doorway and not his--_

_His father stomped out furiously, looking every bit as intimidating while wearing dumbass designer brand plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt as he did in a business suit.  Luke glanced back at him jerkily, grimacing as an especially sharp piece of glass sliced his finger during his hasty cleanup._

_"I'm, I'm sorry," Luke said, dumping the shards back onto the table, "I'll buy her a new-- thing, I'm sorry I woke you up."_

Luke's mind felt fuzzy, and not in the way he liked.  He stared down at his hands in his lap and told himself he needed to get up and go to bed, but his body was protesting the movement required.

He closed his eyes and turned an ear towards his parents' bedroom doorway, where he heard their voices in what sounded like a tense discussion.

_"Why did I get a phone call from that magazine editor asking me to make sure you don't show up stinking like vodka and acting like an idiot the next time they're gracious enough to interview and photograph you?  And you've been late to appointments how many times this month?  Do you need a fucking chaperone, you little twat?" Luke's father hissed, stretching the fabric of Luke's shirt in his fists until it threatened to tear open._

_"F-fuck you!" Luke shouted, shoving his father away from him, apparently losing his mind for a moment.  Then again, he was less than completely sober. "You can't treat me like this anymore, I'm-- I'm an adult now!"_

_Once the words finished blurting out of his mouth, and he saw his father registering the act of defiance in his mind, he knew immediately that he'd said the wrong fucking thing and braced for impact._

He heard footsteps and felt someone's presence too close to him and then a soft hand touched his cheek and he flinched, eyes flying open to see his mother crouched next to him as he jerked away from the touch.  Luke's father stood a few feet behind her, looking like a child that had just received the scolding of a lifetime.

"Relax, baby," she said, running an unwelcome but gentle hand through his hair.  She ignored the way he involuntarily flinched at her every move, aside from muttering, "Stop that."

She sighed and stood up, wrapping her silky robe more tightly around her thin waist.

"You're both such frickin' idiots," she said irritably, "Getting into a fight at four in the morning!" She turned, jabbing a finger in the direction of her husband, "And you!  This better not be another spiral arm fracture situation, or you're on your own when they start asking questions!"

* * *

Luckily for Luke's father, his son's dislocated shoulder was easily passed off to the emergency room doctor as a drunken fall down an unforgiving staircase.  No further questions were asked when Luke took nearly fifteen minutes to slur the story out from his scrambled brain.

Luckily for Luke, he was prescribed a week's worth of pain medication, which saved him a few hundred dollars.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Ashton hissed, shaking Luke lightly by the shoulders as they stood off-set, "You've been totally fucking up for weeks now!  Everyone's getting pissed off!"

The director had reluctantly called for everyone to take their lunch early, partially due to a crew member's remark that it looked like the actor was going to collapse if he didn't eat something, and partially because Luke couldn't seem to focus on anything at all.

Luke stared at Ashton, a little confused.  He didn't remember pissing anyone off.  He tried to think back to his last few work days, but found his brain empty of those memories.

"What are you-- are you drunk, are you on something, did you develop schizophrenia, what?" Ashton asked in a near-whisper.

"It's just oxy," Luke said.  Ashton squinted at him, the gears turning in his head.

"How many do you fucking take?"

"I don't know..." Luke said uncertainly.

" _Think_."

"A handful, I know that," Luke answered.

"A _week_?  You mean handful a _week_ , right?" Ashton asked hesitantly.  The blonde scoffed at him.

"A handful every few hours," he replied confidently, shrugging nonchalantly.

Ashton's mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words. 

"You have to stop," the older boy finally choked out, "That's too much."

Luke blinked at him.

"Uh, _no_."

"Luke," Ashton said seriously, "You should really think about--"

"I didn't ask for your fucking advice!" Luke snapped.

"Fine, asshole," Ashton replied flatly, sneering at the other boy before turning away towards the catering table. 

* * *

 

"Hey," Calum asked, watching Luke pick disinterestedly at the paper pouch of french fries on the checkered tabletop in front of him, "Just out of curiousity, do you know Michael Clifford?"

Luke glanced up at Calum, searching the other boy's face.  A figurative exclamation point appeared over Luke's head, but the blonde was too numb to express anything other than mild interest.

"We've met," he said vaguely, "Why?"

"Do you two have beef or something?"

"Why?" Luke asked again, suspicious now.

"It's nothing, really, it's probably just that whole trendy hatred of a popular teen-magazine celebrity thing," Calum backpedaled, shaking his head dismissively.  He picked up a piece of pizza from the pan on the restaurant table, "It's just, Ashton and I met him at a party the other night.  I dunno where you were, you didn't answer your phone."

"What did he say?" Luke asked, tense.  Michael wouldn't out him, he couldn't.

"Well, Ashton mentioned that he works with you, and Michael told him that he should tell you to go fuck yourself.  He said he felt sorry for us, that we're constantly trapped in the presence of a total-- y'know, it doesn't matter what he said," Calum replied with a frown, seeing Luke's eyes flash with hurt, "He was pretty wasted, I don't know if he even remembers saying it.  That's why I asked if you two had some kind of issue with each other."

"He's always been a fucking lying prick.  He was in my class senior year, he was jealous and spread rumors about me," Luke lied with a sneer, "Looks like that hasn't changed." 

* * *

 

The blonde scrubbed the sleep from his blue eyes with the heels of his hands, exhaustion quickly turning over into unease as he realized he had no fucking idea _where_ he was, much less _when_ he was.

He'd woken with a start, feeling a body laying in the bed next to him.  Once his eyes cracked open to find that the body was a sleeping girl, he dismissed it as _not that weird_ \-- until he took in his surroundings and found them entirely unfamiliar.  Luke sat up quickly, ignoring the headrush as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress, searching the nightstand and floor for his phone.  He couldn't find either of them and he was starting to fucking panic, so he clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe.  He wracked his brain for information about his sleeping companion -- a name, a place, anything -- and found that the memories were simply not there.  

Luke let out a shaky breath.  He'd blacked out before, but it was generally in a "holy shit, how did I get home?" way, not a "holy shit, I don't know _anyfuckingthing_ " way.

The sheets shifted as the girl's fingers toyed with the fabric.  Luke whirled around to look at her.

"Hey," she said.

"What day is it?" Luke asked.  The girl scooted into a seated position, propped up against the fluffed pillows.

"Thursday morning.  Or afternoon, depending on if we slept in."

Luke stared at her, his mind turning the words over in his head.  He last remembered Saturday night.

"Are you sure?  Isn't it Sunday?" he asked, terrified of her answer.

She raised an eyebrow at him, grabbing her phone off the side table nearest to her.  She unlocked it.

"Definitely Thursday, 11:36 AM," she said, waving the screen towards the actor.  Luke must have gone pale because she quickly asked, "Is everything alright?"

Luke opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again.  Breathe.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"A hotel...?"

"What hotel?" he snapped, "Where?"

"Uh, I don't fucking know, you picked it," she said defensively, wrinkling her nose, "I'm guessing somewhere near the border, since it wasn't a long drive from the bar."

Luke's heart was racing.  He was definitely nowhere near any fucking _border_ Saturday night.  

"What bar?" he asked, his sputtering brain still trying and failing to fill the blanks of four fucking days.

"The bar in Tijuana where you met me!  What's wrong with you?" 

The actor buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

"I can't remember anything," Luke said helplessly, "At all."  He turned to her, noting that they were both in their underwear, "Did we...?"

The girl frowned, concerned.

"No, you brought me here from the bar where we met because you wanted to hook up, but once we got into the room I could tell you weren't... all there, so I told you to go to sleep," she explained, "I put your phone in the bathroom after you started freaking out about the notifications, by the way."

Luke said nothing, trying not to vomit.

"Hey," the girl said, putting a comforting hand on Luke's arm, "Do you think someone maybe...drugged you or something?"

Luke swallowed.  He was silent, bending over to grab his clothes from the floor so he could get dressed.

"I have to go," he said quietly, pulling his shirt over his head, "I have to go, I'm sorry."

When he grabbed his phone from the bathroom countertop and saw the hundreds of missed phone calls, he wanted to chuck the phone straight into the toilet.

One notification caught his eye as he scrolled, horrified, down the list.

 **ashton** : i seriously can't believe you.  i told your parents everything.

 

* * *

 

Luke tore his way through his parents house, slamming his bedroom door behind him.  Neither of them had been home, which Luke was grateful for, but he had no fucking clue how to start making this even _remotely_ okay.  He was going to lose his fucking job, he'd been missing for four fucking days where his brain had apparently been on vacation and hadn't bothered to keep a single memory.

He voted to hide under the covers for the time being but couldn't calm down.  Luke pulled a pill bottle out of his backpack that he'd thankfully managed to keep track of during his absence and popped a handful into his mouth.  For good measure, he rolled over on his mattress so he could grab a bottle of shitty vodka from the drawer of his nightstand, taking a long swig until he couldn't stand the awful taste and burn.  He waited, waited an hour and didn't feel any fucking better.  He took another handful of pills and another few gulps of alcohol.

Finally, everything started to go fuzzy, and he could finally relax.  He would sleep, and deal with it later.

 

* * *

 

 **Beepbeepbeepbeep**.

Oh, fuck.   _That_ couldn't be a good sound.  Luke scrunched up his nose in confusion, feeling groggy but needing to push past it.

There were people shouting over him, someone holding his shoulders down, a gloved hand holding his slack jaw open.  There was a thick tube in his mouth, and it made him gag when it was pushed down his throat.  His eyes popped open, seeing bright lights and seafoam green scrubs and surgical masks.

Oh, fuck, oh fuck _ohfuckohfuck_.  Luke squeezed his watering eyes shut.  Go back to sleep, gothefuckbacktosleep _now_.

It didn't work.  He took to pushing his assailants away after retching painfully, but his movements were sluggish and weak and his hands were easily placed back down to his sides with a firm order to "relax."

Thirty humiliating minutes of _Tube Hell_ later, the doctors seemed satisfied that Luke's stomach was empty of its poisonous contents and he was left shaking and furious on the hospital bed, finally fully conscious.  He pushed his sweaty blonde hair away from his forehead, glaring at a nurse who was trying to hand him something.

"Drink this," the nurse said, shoving the paper cup toward Luke.  Whatever it was, it was black and certainly not made for humans to drink. "It's charcoal."

"I don't want that," Luke croaked, staring at him through bloodshot eyes.  The nurse shrugged.

"They're gonna make you drink it one way or another," he warned, giving Luke a second chance to cooperate, dancing the cup in front of the teen's face.

 

* * *

 

Another thirty minutes of _Vomit Hell_ later, Luke curled in on himself on the hospital bed, sore all over and covered in liquid charcoal where he'd dropped half the cup on himself and smelling like booze and puke.  He hoped his emergency room audience enjoyed the show.

The nurse was kind enough to let the blonde rinse his black-stained mouth out with water before having the bed wheeled to a more private room where he'd be staying for an undetermined amount of time.  Luke didn't know what the fuck he had done, didn't even know the right questions to _ask_ to figure out what the fucking _fuck_ was going on.  They had him change into a hospital gown and put his pile of disgusting soiled clothes into a plastic grocery bag for him to take home.  How nice.

No one was telling the teen anything, just shuffling in and out of his room and prodding at him and he didn't have enough of a voice left to demand answers.  His eyes, puffy from tears, were drifting closed when his father entered the room.  Luke shot up straight in bed, aggravating his sore stomach, but he was genuinely just fucking happy to see a familiar face.  His father always knew how to fix the shit that Luke broke, even if he didn't do so kindly.

"Dad," he breathed as the older man approached him. 

"Are you happy?" his father asked coldly, stopping a few feet away from where Luke's arm was outstretched, reaching for him.

Luke's breath hitched and he let his arm fall back down onto the mattress.

"I can explain--" he tried.  He was interrupted by a humorless laugh.

"No, I don't think you can.  So, I'm going to talk, and you will listen," his father said.  He paused, waiting for Luke to say--

"Yes, sir," Luke said quietly, throat still raw.

"Your mother found you.  She thought you were dead.  Your lips were blue and you were barely breathing.  You took a lethal amount of Oxycodone, and, mixed with the alcohol, you _should_ be dead," he said casually, making Luke's stomach twist into guilty knots, "But here you are.  We have a transportation arrangement to take you to your rehabilitation facility tomorrow."

"My-- my _what_?" Luke asked, blinking tears out of his eyes.

"You'll be doing inpatient rehab in the northern part of the state.  Don't give me that look, it's basically a fucking _resort_ , courtesy of your mother's decision-making."

"Rehab for _what_?" Luke demanded hoarsely, voice cracking, "I just-- made a mistake!"

"Don't be an idiot, Luke."

"No, _you_ listen to _me_ \-- I'm not fucking _addicted_ to anything!" Luke said frustratedly, gripping the sheets tightly, " _You're_ the fucking idiot!"

His father moved swiftly towards him and Luke shrunk away, scrabbling around the bedding for that call button the nurse told him to use if he needed anything.  The older man bent down, putting a heavy hand on the blonde's shoulder and Luke froze as he spoke into the actor's ear.

"This isn't a debate.  You will go to rehab, and when you come back, we will not have any further issues.  Do you understand?"

"Don't hurt me," Luke choked out as his father's grip on his shoulder turned painful.

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes-- yes, I understand," Luke said, nodding his head vigorously, mind flashing back to having his shoulder violently dislocated by the man standing before him.

His father straightened, putting both hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

"Good.  I will see you in a few months, then.  We will keep this quiet until you can figure out how to fix this."

Luke did a mental double-take at ' _a few months_ ,' but by the time the words " _What the fuck do you mean?_ " were on his lips, the older man was already on his way out the door, and it certainly wasn't in the teen's best interest to shout after him.

He didn't have much time to dwell on that though, as the withdrawals from his lack of prescriptionless pain medication began to hit him in full force just a few hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading.


	6. Sharpest Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It rains and it pours when you're out on your own  
> If I crash on the couch, can I sleep in my clothes?  
> 'Cause I spent the night dancing, I'm drunk I suppose,  
> If it looks like I'm laughing  
> I'm really just asking to leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings:  
> Discussion of drug/alcohol abuse, underage drinking, emotional abuse/implied physical abuse.

Month one was a blur of sick and sweat and shaking and begging for just one more goddamn pill and being ignored.  No one paid Luke's misery any mind, the staff entering his room only to make sure he hadn't died of dehydration or to see if he was "up for" a shower or short walk.  To which his answer was always chattering teeth and aggressive sweating along with a glare that could kill and no move to get out of bed.

 _'Basically a resort' my ass_ , Luke thought bitterly, remembering his father's description of the place.

He received no visitors.  No flowers, not a phone call, not a letter.

As time passed and the first month turned into the second and third months, the physical withdrawals slowed to sweating through sheets on a nightly basis.  As soon as he was able, Luke was introduced to the facility's many nontraditional forms of "therapy" -- like yoga and meditation.  None of the other patients (or rather, clients, as he was corrected by a woman on the staff with a weird too-big smile) seemed to give a fuck who he was.  He'd introduced himself as simply 'Luke' during his first lunch, and again during their first group counseling session and no one batted an eye.  A group composed of upper-class socialites and businessmens' children all had their own reputations to protect anyway, so the norm was _mind your own fucking business_.

It was pleasant enough at first, until Luke was taught that _uncooperative behavior_ resulted in certain _privileges_ being taken away.  Like the _privilege_ to use the damn bathroom alone after daring to refuse lunch on a decidedly bad day, or the _privilege_ to be treated like a sentient human being and not some dangerous animal after defending himself from a fellow patient ( _client_ ) who'd snuck up on Luke in the courtyard during an evening cigarette break and cornered him to demand a blowjob, and earned a well-deserved pummelling to the face by the actor.

The staff was so fucking peppy about it in the morning when they let Luke out of the (locked) "quiet room" for breakfast, handed him a plastic spoon in place of the usual set of stainless steel cutlery, and explained that he'd have a full-time attendant (AKA a buff orderly dude) with him for the next few days.

He had a fucking major meltdown in his therapist's office after being told that his parents had heard that he was having difficulties and decided to extend his stay from the initial four months up to six months, which did little to help his case that he was happy, healthy, and ready to head home.

Luke eventually learned to keep his head down and enjoy the stupid vacation like everyone else seemed to.  

Ashton visited once during the final two-month stretch and told Luke he was lucky, getting to live in a five-star resort for six months while _he_ had to work.  Luke bragged about the waterslide by the pool and that massages were considered a form of therapy and left out the bit where he was completely miserable and alone and terrified of being skinned alive when he returned home.

The day finally came where Luke was considered 'cured' of his addiction (a nonexistent phenomenon that seemed to occur only in luxury rehab centers) -- he was decently confident that his fear of withdrawals would be enough to keep him away from pills, and he'd never really mentioned to his counselor how much he loved a nice line of coke or the amount of times he'd passed out still holding a bottle of tequila like it was a teddy bear.  He didn't want to give them a reason to keep him there any longer.

His mother greeted him at the front entrance of the facility on 'graduation day,' and she let him cry on her shoulder and held him like an overgrown child during the four-hour car ride home.

_"You need a haircut, honey," she said softly, twisting a curly strand of hair between her fingers._

_"Why didn't Dad come?" Luke asked, rubbing at his splotchy face with his sleeve._

_"I'll have to call your stylist, we'll see if she can get you in tomorrow," his mother continued as if she hadn't heard him, rubbing her son's back comfortingly._

His father flat-out ignored Luke's existence for three weeks until Luke did a satisfactory job doing comeback interviews where he admitted to needing time off for his mental health and his growing dependence on alcohol, promising his fans and the public that he was doing much better now, making no mention of any overdose or pill addiction or rehab.  Instead, he made up a wonderful little story about finding himself through dumb shit like swimming with dolphins in Hawaii.

"Move," his father said, yanking on the back of Luke's chair at the dinner table, "You're in my seat."

His first words to his son in over six months, and Luke was so fucking happy to hear them.

"Sorry, Dad," he said, a bit too enthusiastically.  His father eyed him strangely, like he couldn't decide whether or not Luke deserved a scolding for sarcasm.

"You were written off your show," his father said, "The network didn't know what else to do without putting the whole thing on an indefinite hiatus.  You really fucked them over.  We were almost sued."

"Oh," Luke said, tapping his fingers on the table nervously.  Maybe he shouldn't have wished for his father's attention.

"But," his father continued, "Since you've gotten everyone on your side now, they don't want it to look like they've fired you and lose even more viewers."

"Oh," Luke said again, relieved.

"They're going to welcome you back to the cast as if your break from them was planned all along.  You'll accept their offer and sign a new contract with them.  Just in time for the promo tour for the next season."

Luke sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Is that a good idea?" he asked, glancing over towards his mother.  His mother looked to her husband in return.

Luke did love acting.  He loved being famous even more.  But if he was being honest with himself, he knew it wasn't a healthy lifestyle for him, and he didn't know how long it'd be before he had another incident if he kept up with it.

"I don't make bad decisions, and I didn't ask for your input," Luke's father said, watching Luke's face as if daring the teen to argue.

"You're right, I know, sorry," Luke said quickly.

"Besides," his father said, "You're not a complete idiot, I know you're not going to risk getting into any more trouble."

The blonde grimaced at the insult, mumbled a quiet 'thank you,' and picked at the food on his plate.

* * *

 

"Good to have you back, buddy!" Ashton greeted, ruffling Luke's hair and getting his perfectly-styled locks all sorts of fucked up, "How are things at home?" he asked, cracking open a bottle of beer with his car keys and passing it to the younger boy.

"Thanks," Luke said, taking the bottle gratefully, "I'm basically on lockdown, whenever I come home my parents make me empty out my pockets and backpack.  I can't even go out to buy a pack of cigarettes without, like, a full cavity search." 

He took a sip of the beer.  It was cheap, it was watery, it was a shit beer, but it was perfect.

"God, I haven't gotten to do _anything_ in six goddamn months.  I tried to have wine with dinner the other day 'cause my mom was having some, and before I could even taste it, my dad threw my full glass at me and went through this whole spiel about me being fucking useless and that he could ship my ass away at any time if he felt like I was up to something."

"Jeez, asshole," Ashton said, sneering, "A simple 'no' would suffice."

"No, I understand him though, like, if I put myself in his shoes, I'd be pissed too," Luke said, emptying the bottle and setting it down on the glasstop table, "If I had to deal with me for 18 years, I probably wouldn't be able to stand myself either."

"Luke, you're fine.  Your dad's a dick because he got too dependent on your income and because he's just a dick," Ashton said with a sigh.  He popped open another beer for his friend, "Here, loosen up."

* * *

 

"Hey, hey, you're falling asleep," Ashton said gently, patting Luke on the cheek as the younger boy slumped over their table.  Not even the heavy bass and painfully loud club music seemed to energize him.

"'M ssorry, my tolerance issjust really low after everything," Luke slurred, blinking slowly.  He cleared his throat and made himself sit upright.  He laughed, "That rehab place made me _weak_."

"It really did," Ashton said, laughing along with Luke.  He snapped his fingers at a nearby server, "Ayy, we need a vodka Redbull over here, we're not trying to go home early tonight!" 

The rest of their VIP entourage made a ruckus over Luke's near-passing out, so Luke grabbed one of their tequila shots and took it, cheering himself on as his friends encouraged him noisily.

"That's our boy!  Coming back to the dark side after your shitty sleep-away camp!" Ashton joked, slapping Luke on the back good-naturedly.

* * *

After a few weeks, Luke didn't know why he'd ever thought he missed his father.  Being shoved around and screamed at was more comfortable and familiar than the forceful peace and quiet of the rehabilitation center, he guessed.

Luke slid into the backseat of the black SUV, closing the door behind him and resting his head against the glass.  He stared out the window sullenly as his parents climbed into the front seats, a frown on his face.  His father gave the valet driver a friendly wave through the front window, and started up the car.

His mother and father chatted about the people they'd _networked_ with at the oceanside mansion party they'd just left.  His father had recently organized a partnership with another company, so obviously a snobby get-together was in order.  After about 10 minutes of driving, Luke saw a street sign that alerted him that they were going in the wrong direction.

"Where are we going?" he asked suddenly, interrupting his mother mid-sentence.  She rolled her eyes.

"A steakhouse downtown, baby," she answered.  

Luke huffed in annoyance.

"Whatever."  

He wanted to go _home_.  He scowled and slumped further into his seat.

"Fix your attitude," she said, "I gave the chef a night off and I don't feel like cooking, so we're going out."

"Don't pay attention to him," his father said to her, looking at Luke in the rearview mirror, "He's just pissed off at me."

The teen grumbled noncommittally.

"Why?" his mother asked.

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"Because he's a spoiled brat," the older man said.

" _Ugh_!" Luke groaned.

Luke's mother twisted around in her seat to pat her son on the knee sympathetically.

"What happened, sweetie?"

Luke crossed his arms over his chest and leaned forward, inserting himself further into the conversation so his father wouldn't talk over him.

"I just don't know why you always have to bring that up!" Luke said irritably, "You know I'm embarrassed about it, you're just being a dick!"

"Bring what up?" his mother asked.

"It's not my fault you consistently make bad decisions!" his father exclaimed, "Do you think I want everyone knowing about that?  Gossiping about it?"

"You're the one who fuckin' blabbed about it three separate times!" 

"Watch your mouth, idiot!" 

"I give up, I have no idea what you two are talking about," Luke's mother sighed, flopping back in her seat.

"I'm _talking_ about the fact that Dad keeps telling everyone about my DUI just to humiliate me, and then gets mad at _me_ \--"

"Oh fuck off, it wasn't _just_ a DUI, you totaled my fucking car and lost your license," his father interrupted, eyes on the road.  He was speeding, but Luke wasn't about to mention that.

"See, he did it again," Luke sneered, " _He_ brings it up, and then gets mad at _me_ because everyone knows about it, when they only know about it because _he_ \--"

"Luke, shut up.  Just shut the fuck up and stop arguing with me," his father said tersely.  

He was speaking quietly, which wasn't a good omen for Luke's future, but the actor had already been riled up into full-blown emotionally-stunted tantrum mode.

"I'm not even fucking talking to you, I'm talking to Mom!" Luke argued, throwing his hands in the air angrily.

"I _said_ , watch your goddamn mouth and stop talking back!"

"Baby, you can nap in the car if you don't want to have dinner with us," his mother added tiredly, entirely done with the conversation, "Just stop getting all worked up, play with your phone or something."

"I can't," Luke said snottily, "My phone died, like, an hour ago.  I was using it to distract myself from Dad being a fucking ass--"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Luke!  Jesus Christ, you're stupid!" his father yelled, causing Luke to raise his voice indignantly in return.

"No!  I'm fucking sick of your shit parenting, it's so goddamn unfair!" he replied, "I shouldn't have to listen to you!"

 _I'm a dumbass_ , Luke thought to himself as the car skidded to a sudden stop on the side of the road.  He quickly sealed his lips and the car was silent, aside from the soft sound of the engine.  He watched his father's hand on the gear shift and avoided eye contact when the older man turned around, ready to launch himself into the far back row of seats at the first sudden movement.

"Get out of the car," his father said quietly, sounding absolutely livid.  

Luke blinked in disbelief.  He looked up to search his father's expression.

" _What_?" he scoffed.

"Get _out_.  If you don't like my parenting, I'm not doing parent shit for you."

"No!  What the fuck?  You're kidding," Luke said incredulously.

"I'm not kidding.  I told you to be quiet three times, and you continued to talk back to me, and now you're finding your own ride home for being a disrespectful asshole," his father said.

Luke gaped at his father, whose serious expression didn't falter for a single second.  He groped around for a semblance of an apology but knew he'd have to come pretty close to begging if he wanted it to be at all effective.  He spoke in a low tone, trying to diffuse the situation.

"I wasn't _trying_ to talk back, I was just trying to say that it upsets me when you talk about--"

"I don't care.  Get out of my car."

"We're at least thirty miles away from the house!" Luke cried frustratedly, voice going annoyingly high, "I don't have a phone, I barely know where we are, I don't even--"

"I'm sure someone will help you," his father said flatly.

Luke glanced to his mother, whose blonde hair was resting on the seat's headrest, her eyes closed like she was the most exhausted woman in the world.

"Seriously?   _Mom_!"

"I'm clocking out of this one, baby," she said tiredly, not bothering to open her eyes as she massaged her temples, "Sort it out."

"Stop wasting my time and get out before I make you," his father said, more aggressively.  

After another few still moments of tense silence and glaring, Luke's father moved, like he was about to undo his seatbelt, climb into the back, and put his son's head through the glass window, so Luke jumped to action.  He screamed through his teeth and pounded his fists on the seat in anger before tearing the door open and slamming it back shut as hard as he could, standing with his hands clenched outside the car, his eyes burning with rage.

The tinted passenger-side window rolled down and revealed his mother, as uninvolved and disinterested as ever.  

"Your father said, never slam one of his doors like that again if you want to keep your hands in working condition," she said before the window slowly began to roll back up.

"Fuck you!" Luke shouted over her as the car sped off.

He practically ripped the stupid Republican-ass blazer his father had told him to wear off his shoulders and threw it to the ground before stomping down the sidewalk towards the gas station he'd remembered passing a few blocks back.  His face was hot with anger and frustration, and he was amazed he was able to calm himself down enough into charming the skeptical gas station attendant into believing that, yes, _really_ , Luke Hemmings, the _real_ Luke Hemmings, needed to call a fucking taxi for an undisclosed reason.

* * *

 

"It's your big mouth that gets you in trouble, baby," Luke's mother said, popping a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth with one hand and using the other to hold an ice pack to the side of Luke's face.

"Uh huh," he breathed, his head resting on his mother's lap as she continued her marathon of Dance Moms without interruption.  To stop his hands from shaking as violently as the rest of himself, he tightly clutched the soft blanket she had thrown over her legs.

Things predictably didn't go so well after Luke made it home from wherever-the-fuck.

"You'd think after almost nineteen years, you would have learned to zip your lip when your dad asks you to," she continued.

"Uh huh."

"It ruined our whole dinner, you upset him so much."

"Uh huh."

His mother paused a moment, setting her popcorn bowl down on the side table.  She leaned down and took ahold of Luke's cheeks to make him roll over to meet her eyes.

"What's wrong with you, do you have a concussion?" she asked.

"Nuh-uh," Luke said, shaking his head the best he could.  

She released him, looking down at him suspiciously.

"You've got to stop making him so angry, honey," she said, unconvinced.  She leaned back into the sofa, reverting to her former position of holding the ice pack on her son's face.  This time, to occupy her other hand, she picked up the half-full glass of wine next to the popcorn bowl. "You should have a glass of wine, maybe it'll help you quit shaking and go to sleep."

"Okay."

 _At least Ashton's birthday party was next week_ , Luke thought through the ringing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! more to come.
> 
> directly after this chapter is the original "its a hell of a feeling though" fic, so you may want to read that if you havent already! the time period will skip around from pre/post/during-fic from here on out.


	7. Royal Milk Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I got too many memories getting in the way of me  
> I'm about to go Tonya Harding on the whole world's knee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings:  
> discussions of substance abuse and past child abuse.

They're in line at the grocery store when Michael catches Luke staring at the baby in the cart ahead of them.

The mother notices, and Luke quickly looks away after meeting her eyes for a brief second.

"Say hi!" Luke hears, and looks back over to see the mother teaching her baby how to wave ' _hello_.'

The blonde's face lights up, and the baby giggles, and Luke feels his heart shredding in half.  The mother waves him over, obviously recognizing the actor, and Michael watches Luke bend down to the baby's level ( _Sofie, she's almost two and is just learning to talk, he later tells Michael_ ) and boops her little nose.

When it's the woman's turn to load her groceries onto the conveyor belt, she takes a quick picture of Luke with her baby, and Luke retreats back to Michael, who is waiting for him with a smile.

"I fucking love that squishy little thing," Luke tells him.

 

* * *

 

They're laying on the beach when Michael notices the two random children who've begun nonchalantly burying Luke's lower legs in the sand.  Eventually, Luke sits up and looks at them over his sunglasses, and Michael thinks he's going to scold them, but instead the actor starts helping them build a sandcastle on top of his completely buried feet.

Eventually, it's time for them to scurry on back to their parents a few towel-lengths away, and Luke gives them a wave before attempting to unbury himself, which Michael ends up having to help with when Luke starts whining that he's stuck and he has to pee.

 

* * *

 

They laid in bed the next morning, sunburned as shit and still finding sand in ungodly places, when Luke pointed his phone at Michael to show him a video on Facebook of a toddler who'd used lipstick to draw on the walls of his room.  Michael laughed, and Luke continued scrolling down his feed with a smile on his face.

"Do you ever think about having kids?  Like, the two of us?" Michael asked casually.

Luke stared at him, lips parted.

"Um, I dunno," he said after a beat, locking his phone and setting it on the nightstand.  He laced his fingers together over his chest, inspecting his wedding ring.  After three years of marriage to the love of his life, of fucking course he was thinking about sharing a family together.  "Sometimes, I guess."

"Me too," Michael said, "Pretty often, actually.  It's a nice thought, isn't it?"

The blonde nodded, but said nothing, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Do you... wanna have that conversation, maybe?" Michael asked slowly, eyeing Luke to gauge his reaction.

Luke's heart pounded and he didn't react and Michael thought maybe he'd broken him until finally Luke nodded again, biting his lip nervously.

"Yeah?" Michael asked.

"Yeah."

 

* * *

 

In all the excitement, Luke nearly forgot his fears of becoming a horrible father and raising a child in an abusive, broken drug den of a home out of his mind for a few weeks and let himself be giddy while he and Michael hammered out the details of adopting a fucking baby.  

Their lawyer warns that the process can be long and difficult, and Luke nods along with a wide grin on his face as they start to sign legal paperwork where they agree that they won't attempt to bribe an expecting mother into selling her newborn to them just because they're rich.

 

* * *

 

"I love you," Michael panted, kissing Luke  deeply on the mouth.  

They'd been fucking like rabbits since being accepted as applicants at an adoption agency, as if they were going to poof a baby into existence themselves out of sheer willpower.

"You're perfect," Luke replied, arms wrapped around Michael's neck.

It was a fun way to pass the time until the stork carrying their pregnant woman arrived, anyway.

 

* * *

 

"Luke, I got a phonecall today," Michael said one day at the dinner table, casually.

"Yeah?" Luke asked.

"It was the adoption agency."

Luke's heart skipped a beat.  Michael's tone was indecipherable.

"Yeah?" he asked anxiously.  He was just going to explode if it wasn't good news.

"We're having a baby, and-- oh my god, you're already crying.  I didn't even get to finish my sentence!"

"No I'm not!" Luke sobbed, burying his face in his hands, "Shut up!"

 

* * *

 

They met with the biological mother of their future child two weeks later, and Luke was nervous that she'd bring up the actor's concerning history.  But she didn't.

"She liked you," Michael noted, later on.

"She can pull out at any time," Luke replied, "She could change her mind six months from now."

"She won't," Michael said, pulling him in close to kiss his forehead, "You're wonderful."

 

* * *

 

The next person to know was Luke's therapist, because the couple wasn't ready to go public but Luke was bursting at the seams waiting for _someone_ to tell him it was a terrible idea.

"Michael and I are adopting a baby," he said, chin resting on the arm of the sofa in her office, "The mother is due in five and a half months."

" _Really?  Are you sure you're ready for something like that?_ " she would say hesitantly, making Luke second-guess the whole fucking thing.  But she didn't.

"Really?  That's great, Luke!" she said excitedly, causing Luke's eyebrows to raise in shock, "Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?"

"I-- I don't know," Luke blinked, "The three of us all wanted it to be a surprise."

 

* * *

 

"You're really optimistic about this, huh?" he asked later on in the session, which had mostly consisted of positive reinforcement thus far.

The therapist paused, tilting her head a bit.  She seemed to reel it back in to her usual professional demeanor, when a few seconds ago she'd been in full on excited gushing mode.

"Well, yes, Luke," she said, "You're in a very stable place right now - you're twenty five, married, sober, successful, happy - you and Michael are going to be great parents."

Luke smiled.  She was right, wasn't she?

* * *

The news hit the media shortly after Luke and Michael began telling their closest friends, and then their less-close blabbermouthed friends in an effort to avoid having to make a corny social media announcement themselves.  The story slowly spread throughout the social circles until it reached the tabloids.  The couple gave a casual “Yeah,” when asked about it on the red carpet at a movie premiere, confirming that it was all true.

* * *

Luke's phone buzzed, vibrating loudly against the polished wood of the dining table.   _Mother_ , it said.

"Right on schedule," he muttered, Twitter open on his laptop to a linked article that begged the question ' _Can Luke Pull Himself Together Before It’s Too Late?_ '

"Ick, don't answer it," Michael advised, reaching for the phone.  

Luke snatched it away, giving his husband a glare without heat behind it.  He sighed, putting the iPhone up to his ear.

"Hello," he said.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” asked a distinctly male voice.

”Gee, Mom, you sound sick,” Luke said sarcastically, rising from his seat to take his father’s phonecall in the other room, ignoring Michael’s questioning look.

“You blocked my work phone and my two cells, so I had to use your mother’s phone to get ahold of you,” his father said.

”I thought you might get the hint that I don’t want to talk to you,” Luke said, pushing through the swinging door into the next room over; the den.

”I’m your father,” the voice on the phone spat.

“That’s not an on-and-off position, you know,” the blonde replied, pacing as he spoke.  His father had basically rescinded the whole _you’re out of this family_ thing once he realized his son being married to a man didn’t, in fact, cause Luke’s career to crash and burn, “Anyway, I’m busy, what do you want?”

”I just wanted to find out if you knew how much of a big fucking idiot you’re being with this baby shit.”

“Sorry, and you don’t get why I blocked your numbers?” Luke asked incredulously.

”It’s not responsible to bring a child into a home where it’s going to find its father collapsed on the floor after an overdose because he couldn’t get his shit together,” his father hissed, “Or hanging from the ceiling fan dead because its father happens to be insane.”

Luke choked up at that and he hated himself for it. He threw himself hard into the nearest chair, decided he couldn’t take sitting still, got up, and paced around some more.

“I’m perfectly stable right now, thank you very much,” he managed to spit out, fingernails digging into his own clenched fist, “I’m several years clean, actually, and I’m medicated for the mental illnesses I developed because of you—“

”You’ve traded one addiction for another!” his father argued.

Luke screamed through his teeth, no doubt worrying Michael in the other room.

”It’s really fucking funny that you’re so worried about _my_ future parenting skills, when _you_ started beating the fuck out of me as soon as I was old enough to keep a secret!” Luke screeched, angry tears blurring his vision, “I’m happy, I’m fine, and I don’t _care_ what you think!”

“It’s not about what I think, it’s about what the whole world thinks!  I’m sure you’ve seen it in the media, and the only reason people won’t say it to your face is because they don’t want you to go on a suicidal drug binge—!”

 _Click_.

Luke hung up, immediately turning his phone all the way off, and somehow shoved it ( _somewhat_ ) calmly in his pocket without chucking it across the room.  He’d already broken three phones that way within the past two years.  The blonde just stood there and sobbed into his hands for a moment, his father’s words deeply upsetting him no matter how much he wished they didn’t.  Hey, just a few weeks ago he’d _wished_ someone would second-guess him, right?  He took a few shaky breaths to collect himself, not wanting Michael to find him throwing a tantrum in the den.

Gritting his teeth in frustration at his own patheticness, Luke finally slammed his way back into the dining room, where Michael had set out two mugs of hot cocoa in preparation.

Michael looked up at him with soft green eyes and Luke made himself set his phone on the table _nicely_ , and sat back down in his seat when he really wanted to toss the chair across the room.

“What was that?” Michael asked, because he knew ‘ _are you okay_ ’ was a stupid question.

”Leave it,” Luke snapped, rougher than he meant it.  He broke eye contact and settled for glaring at the table.

“Do you want whipped cream?” Michael asked patiently, “For the cocoa.”

”Yes,” Luke replied, clearing his throat, “Thank you.” 

* * *

 

”Fuck!” Luke shrieked as the sound of a shattering plate reached his ears.  

He stared down at the broken glass on the tile floor, pressing a hand to his mouth.  He felt dizzy and sick and tried not to throw up as his mind involuntarily flashed back to another time he’d accidentally broken something.  He heard his name and footsteps rushing towards the kitchen and he dropped to his knees in a panic, trying to gather the broken shards as quickly as possible because sometimes his shoulder still hurt from being ripped out of its socket and he couldn’t do that again, he had to fix the mess before—

A hand brushed his fingers and Luke recoiled with a loud sob, scrambling backwards until he hit the cabinets with his ass and he looked up and realized it was just fucking _Michael_ in front of him and _goddamn he felt really fucking stupid now._

Michael watched him, wide-eyed and worried.  He was careful not to move.

Luke tried to laugh, to diffuse the situation, but it came out as a weird strangled whimper because the rest of his body was still in tense panic mode.

”Sorry,” he whispered instead.

“You’re okay, Luke,” Michael said, very calm and quiet.  

 _God, how embarrassing_.

The blonde managed to force his lips into what he hoped looked like a sheepish grin, his face hot.

“I know,” Luke insisted, crawling forwards to resume cleaning up the broken glass.  He made it a point to look _normal and unbothered_. “I ju— um, I thought— I was somewhere else.  You know I haven’t been sleeping well.”

After collecting the broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards of plate, Michael leaned over to kiss Luke on the forehead, and Luke gave him a peck on the lips with a reassurance that he’d talk to his therapist about the whole thing at his appointment the next day, to show that he was _fine_.

He was, in fact, _not fine_ , but Michael didn’t need to hear about his husband’s nightmares and intrusive thoughts about his own horrible shitstain of a self tearing their family apart, nor did he need a reminder that Luke was batshit crazy in the form of random-ass flashbacks and anxiety attacks.  And Luke just plain old didn’t _want_ to tell Michael what his father had said on the phone a week ago, because he was afraid Michael would agree, or that Michael would disagree and allow Luke to be a fucking disaster parent just because he felt too sorry for Luke to tell him he shouldn’t ever be a parent.

* * *

Two weeks later, the cracks in Luke’s mental health were spreading faster than he could plug them back up, but he couldn’t tell Michael, or anyone, really; the baby was due in three months and everyone was so excited and stressed at the same time and Luke felt that mentioning the fact that he was about to _explode_ would be like knocking over a wedding cake in front of the bride at her reception.  He’d stopped taking his medications in hopes that it’d help clear his head.  The results were... unclear.

“Hey babe,” Michael greeted, throwing his denim jacket on the kitchen counter and immediately noticing the empty wine bottle and corkscrew laying in the stainless steel sink. “Oh—“ he whipped around, seeing Luke sitting at the breakfast nook with a tall glass of dark liquid.  He tried not to sound accusatory but it didn’t really work, “Oh, you’re— you’re _drinking_.”

“No I’m not,” Luke grumbled, flipping through the pages of a gossip magazine.

“Empty bottle in the sink,” Michael pointed out.

”This is only my second glass, the bottle was almost gone when I got to it,” Luke lied, but the way he slurred the ‘ _s_ ’s on his words gave him away.

Michael sighed.

”Is this about our fight earlier?” he asked calmly.

The two of them had been fighting a lot within the past few days, over stupid shit.  That morning, Michael had mentioned something about how being in the studio always helped him vent, and Luke sarcastically apologized for being _such a fucking burden_ in response.  Before that, they fought over the color of the baby’s room.  Before that, it was what restaurant they wanted to go to for dinner, because Michael wanted Mexican and Luke didn’t know what he wanted to eat but it wasn’t _that_.

“I’m not _drunk_ , Michael,” Luke snapped, “I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to have a fucking glass of wine before bed in my own house.”

”Fine,” Michael said shortly, shoving his house keys into his pants pocket, “I don’t want to argue with you right now. I had a really long day in the studio, and I just want to shower and go to bed.”

”Go do that, then,” Luke replied nastily.

The older boy grunted frustratedly and stomped out of the kitchen.  Luke listened to his footsteps disappear up the stairs towards their bedroom, and, once confident Michael wouldn’t be returning to the kitchen, Luke got up and retrieved the second wine bottle from the refrigerator to refill his glass.  He’d wait until Michael was asleep before stumbling upstairs to pass out himself.

* * *

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_  You’d think that after using the same chauffeur for the past six years, you’d be able to memorize the number to call a driver.  Luke smacked himself in the head with the payphone as he stood outside a shitty bar in the middle of nowhere.  His phone had died hours ago and the only phone number he was able to memorize both sober _and_ drunk was— Michael’s.   _Shit_!

The blonde weighed his options: call Michael and face the shitstorm, or borrow the bartender’s phone to call an Uber at the risk of being recognized as _fucking drunk Luke Hemmings at 2 AM on a Tuesday night with a baby on the way_ \- and face the shitstorm anyway.

Luke groaned, stuffing quarters into the slot and punching in Michael’s number as quickly as possible so he couldn’t chicken out.

Michael picked up on the second ring, apparently _also_ wondering where his husband could be at 2 AM on a Tuesday night without a phone.

”Hello?” Michael said.  He sounded anxious.

”I screwed up, Michael,” Luke admitted helplessly, “I really fu—“

”Tell me you’re not in jail,” Michael interrupted.

”It’s—worse.”

* * *

Michael actually showed up to retrieve Luke himself, which the actor was slightly surprised at, given how their phone conversation had gone.  A nondescript black SUV pulled into the gravel parking lot of the trashy bar-slash-bowling alley and rolled to a stop in front of the curb where Luke was crouched, sobbing into his knees.  The drivers’ side window rolled down and Michael looked down at Luke, looking very tired.  He adjusted his thick plastic-rimmed glasses and bobbed his chocolate-brown dyed hair as a wordless gesture for Luke to get into the car.

The younger boy sniffed loudly, hopping up and scrambling around the SUV to the passengers’ side door, getting himself inside and his seatbelt fastened as quickly as he could.

”Thank you,” he said quietly, when Michael didn’t speak or move.

Michael chewed on his lip, staring at Luke in the rearview mirror instead of looking directly at him.

”It’s just alcohol, right?” he spat out finally, the question he didn’t know if he should ask, “That’s it?”

Luke blinked, realizing what Michael was accusing him of.

”Yes.”

”You didn’t take anything? Are you high?”

”No. I had a cocktail with dinner when I went out with my costars ‘cause everyone was getting one, and then I just— fucking up and left them so I could go drink some more.  Which was stupid. I’m not high,” Luke said, knowing Michael was _not_ in the mood for flowery apologies or groveling or self-pity.  At least the excruciating wait for a ride home had helped Luke sober up a little.

Michael closed his eyes and nodded, more to himself than to Luke, and finally looked over at the blonde, examining his expression for signs of a lie.

” _Fucking hell_ ,” Michael said under his breath, turning the car key in the ignition.

* * *

”No one saw me,” Luke said anxiously into the tense silence of the car, “I don’t think the people working there even knew who I was, I purposely chose a place that—“

”I don’t _care_ , Luke. You _purposely chose_ to go out drinking.”

”I’m just stressed about the baby,” Luke tried, “I didn’t want to bother you with that.”

”That doesn’t bother me,” Michael said, “It bothers me when you go out drinking in the first place, not to mention you were alone, told no one where you were going, and didn’t have a working phone.  And you have a track record of mixing drinking with drugs and ending up in the hospital, no offense.”

“I told you I didn’t take any drugs!”

”I mean your medication, which, by the way, is not supposed to be mixed with alcohol at all. I wouldn’t have known if something happened to you. I don’t even know how much you drank — if you’d called your counselor instead of me, you’d be getting transported to the emergency room right now just because of the principle of it.”

Luke went silent, staring out the window.  He tapped his fingers on the cupholder between his seat and Michael’s.

”Well you don’t have to worry about that, because I haven’t taken any medications in the past three weeks,” the overpowering drunk part of Luke’s brain blurted out for him.

Michael’s breath caught in his throat and he did a triple take at Luke.

”Are you fucking kidding?” Michael asked.  Luke shook his head, and the older boy continued, “Luke, our _child_ will be here in less than three months!”

“All the better reason why I shouldn’t be addicted to Klonopin and lithium, right?” Luke asked simply.

”You’re not _addicted_ —“ Michael snorted, “but what I’m saying, is that it’s probably not a good idea to make a drastic change like this and throw yourself off-balance right _now_?  And I get that it’s between you and your therapist, whatever, but at least let me in on your decisions so I know what’s going on!  We could’ve avoided so many issues if you two just sat me down and had that conversation!”

”I haven’t seen my therapist in weeks,” Luke admitted, grimacing at the hole he was digging himself into, “I thought she’d try to stop me.”

Panic rose in Luke’s throat as Michael braked suddenly, pulling the SUV over on the side of the road.  Tears immediately sprang back to his eyes, afraid he’d have to walk home from— wherever the hell this was, he didn’t even know.

”I don’t know where we are,” he said quickly, tightly clutching the nylon seatbelt across his chest, “Please take me home.”

“Of course I’ll take you home,” Michael said, “But you’re gonna explain this shit to me first.  You’ve shut me out for weeks now, and I’m done.”

Luke took shaky breaths, glancing around the car’s surroundings.  It was pitch dark out, aside from their headlights, and he recognized nothing.  He would die if Michael made him get out of the car.

“I can’t be a parent and there’s nothing I can do to fix it, I just wanted to clear my head but being off medication isn’t _working_ because my dad was _right_ , no matter what I do I’m still gonna fuck up this kid because I’m an addict and a terrible person and we should just call the whole thing off,” Luke babbled, eyes squeezed shut, “I’m sorry, I love you, please take me home, don’t leave me out here.”

Luke felt Michael’s eyes on him but refused to look, not wanting to see how upset he’d made his husband.  Finally, wordlessly, Michael pulled off from the side of the road and continued driving. A relieved sob escaped Luke’s lips. The car was otherwise silent until they reached the long driveway of their mansion.

And it was silent until they were in their dark bedroom, mechanically taking off their clothes and putting on pajamas.  Michael perched on the edge of the mattress, staring at Luke, who was pulling a new t-shirt over his head.

”Is that how you really feel about it,” Michael asked with a hard swallow, “You don’t want our baby?”

Luke didn’t answer until he looped around the room, getting into bed and under the covers, wishing he felt less vulnerable.

”Of course I want our baby,” he whispered, “But you know I’m not fit to be a parent.”

”But why?”

”My dad said—“

”Stop!  That’s ridiculous, don’t you hear how ridiculous that sounds?” Michael asked, “Your abusive father is giving you parenting advice and you’re taking it at face value?  He literally just manipulated you into distrusting your therapist and husband to fuck your shit up.”

 _Well, when you put it that way._  

Luke mumbled noncommittally, fiddling with a button on the duvet cover.

”It’s not like he was wrong, though— I’m always going to be reliant on drugs and I’m still having issues with alcohol,” Luke countered.

”Why? Who says? Just because it didn’t work for you to quit your mood stabilizers cold-turkey without any therapist notice or supervision doesn’t mean you’re going to be reliant on drugs forever— and you weren’t having issues with alcohol until you _quit your mood stabilizers cold-turkey without any therapist notice or supervision._ This is all from that one phone call weeks ago?  You should’ve talked to me.”

”Oh.” Luke said, “I’m embarrassed now.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. Your father’s the one who should feel bad, but you know he doesn’t give an actual shit about any of this. We’re gonna call your counselor in the morning, and we’ll all talk, and you’ll be a wonderful parent. If you want to be a wonderful parent.”

”I do,” Luke said quietly.

“Good,” Michael said, sighing in relief.  He pulled himself under the covers with Luke and kissed the younger boy’s forehead, “I love you. No matter what.”

”I love you too.”

* * *

 

“Normally, I might say you should take the time to collect yourself after what you’ve been struggling with,” Luke’s therapist said the next day, their very long ( _but mostly positive!  Aside from Luke’s embarrassing crying which made Michael cry and they had to go take a specifically quiet break for tea_ ) conversation finally drawing to a close, “Obviously, we can’t just ask the baby to stay inside that woman for a few more months. But, Luke, I’m confident in you if you feel confident in yourself.  If you both still feel comfortable with bringing this child home, I’m more than okay with that. Take these last three months to get back on track. And we’ll all communicate to make sure you don’t miss any more sessions.”

”And block your mom’s number,” Michael chimed in, his fingers interlaced with Luke’s as they sat side-by-side on the sofa in their living room.

”If you ever get the insatiable urge to contact your parents, it’s best to do it in an environment like this. So just let me know and we can set up a meeting where they won’t be allowed to step over you,” his therapist reiterated.

Luke nodded in understanding. Not like he _wanted_ to contact them— and now he could use the excuse that he couldn’t speak to them on doctor’s orders.

”So,” he said, licking his lips, “We’re having a baby.”

”We’re having a baby,” Michael repeated, smiling.  Luke grinned back this time, finding the older boy’s smile infectious.  Finally, the bricks on his chest were lifted, and he felt... confident?  Weird.

* * *

 

“Is it gonna be weird that our kid doesn’t have any grandparents?” Luke asked, clicking his black painted fingernails on his mug of tea.  He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back in the cushioned patio chair.

”Nah,” Michael said, propping his feet up on the footrest in front of him, “Calum can take on the grandmother role.  Besides, at least they’ll have parents.  I know I would’ve rather had two parents who actually liked me than that one fun granddad I saw at Christmas sometimes.”

”Yeah, me too. I guess we can send Calum to whatever breakfast-with-grandma school events we run into,” Luke agreed, staring up at the cloudless blue sky, the sun warm on his cheeks.

Michael’s phone buzzed suddenly, and Luke glanced over as his husband answered the call.

”Hello?” Michael said.  He jolted up at the response of whoever was calling, “Oh!  Yes!  Yeah.  Yeah.  Okay.  We got it.  Yeah, we’re on our way.”

He hung up the phone and stood up, his face breaking out into a grin.  Luke stared at him questioningly before the reason for Michael’s manic expression dawned on him.

”Baby?!” he blurted out, shooting out of his chair, apparently unable to form any actual sentences.

”Baby!” Michael shrieked, lunging at Luke to embrace his husband, their lips crashing together.

In his excitement, Luke shoved his tongue in Michael’s mouth and Michael grabbed a fistful of Luke’s blonde curls and they were making out on the back patio like teenagers, until Luke felt Michael’s dick poking his thigh.

He pulled away, panting loudly, his hands still firmly placed on Michael’s ass.

”What are we doing?!” Luke asked, to which Michael shrugged, “We can fuck in the hospital bathroom, go put your shoes on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you i didnt abandon this, thanks for reading if you’re still around!


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